Where Would The War Be Without Duo? 1/?
by duo'sarah
Summary: Introspective. Just read it, ne? Heero isn't going to kill you if you don't like it. (This is going to be several chapters long.)


**Where Would The War Be Without Duo?**  
by sarah  
  
  
  
_It's improbable that I can describe well enough. The sensation that is almost physical and so damn deep in my soul, warm and burning and at times chilling me to the bone. Fuzziness, this soft and cuddly feeling that they talk of . . . it's nothing like that. Simple, basic, fundamental; it's taken for granted and yet considered precious and rare. It's bright and blatant and, try as I do, never ignored.  
  
Heeding it, though, is something else. A man can see and hear and still turn his back. You can hear the tapping on your heart and still draw the curtain shut. Would that I could build a barrier impenetrable, something worthy like steel or granite, not this fragile wrap I call my mask. Never beaten against, never maimed, and yet I feel it's strength failing as time passes. As the awareness of this sensation, this presence, encloses me more securely, and indeed I almost forget why I even struggled against it in the first place.  
  
Innocently, oh how unknowingly, it draws me into itself, and I find myself reflecting, quite unintentionally and with a surprising sense of calm, as I awake on one ordinary winter's morning, that I would rather die than live without it.  
  
Uncanny how easily the thought came to me, like wading on the ocean's edge and feeling a wave wash over your legs that you knew was coming yet somehow forgot to ready for. A gentle wave, a washing over feeling of sweetness and harmony. A clean feeling that was dreamt of in places hidden even from yourself.  
  
All my training for naught. Perfection had seemed something rigidly achieved through strength of will and perseverance, through enemies lain to waste and missions accomplished. A perfect box, with the sides that you could see and define, how this makes sense and that, how it all fits together for the end result.  
  
How different perfection felt when I realized what it was. How something so simple as a smile can change the way you feel about life. How an embrace can heal those jagged wounds you didn't know you had. How simply being beside someone can erase all darkness from your mind.  
  
It wouldn't have been possible before. It wasn't in my vocabulary.  
  
But that was before Duo._  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
  
"Whatcha up to?"  
  
I didn't bother answering him. Typed instead.  
  
"Ne, Heero~" he said, bouncing up to me, "c'mon, whatcha up to?"  
  
The keyboard paused as I read words on the screen, and then clattered with the motion of my hands.  
  
"How dull. Read, read, read. Type, type, type. Ninmu Ryoukai, Ninmu Kanryou. Read again, type again. _Booooriiiing_."  
  
He collapsed on the bed in a cat-like tangle of slender limbs, making contented stretching noises as he relaxed behind me. I kept my eyes on the screen, typing, reading, processing.  
  
There was a pause for about a minute--and later I would marvel that he held it so long--and then, into the relative silence in which I oddly produced the only noise with the clattering of the keyboard, I heard a muffled snicker. A split second later, the pillow from my bed slammed into my head, bowling me forward and into the laptop, which hesitated, chirped a quiet note, and went blank.  
  
"Oops."  
  
Slowly, feeling the anger rise in me, I sat straight and carefully discarded the pillow onto the floor. I closed the laptop, and then I turned around. I spoke. Very quietly.  
  
"Duo."  
  
He gulped, the big blue-violet eyes widening into saucers. One hand fingered the braid nervously. "Um . . . okay, let's see--ano . . . dinner's ready? Everybody's waiting? Quarte asked me to get you? See? Ano . . . um . . . n-ninmu kanryou--?"  
  
"Omae o korosu."  
  
That signature grin of his flashed across his face. With his useless braid and his eyes and his childlike smile, with his whole demeanor, he reminded me of a mischievous puppy. "C'mon, Heero. _Omae o korosu_," he imitated my manner and voice. "Heh heh, you always say that--"  
  
I got up.  
  
"--and I always believe you!" He bolted for the door, reason finally prevailing. "QUARTE! Tasukete! Ninmu Kanryou--!" His voiced faded ever so slightly with the hasty footsteps down the stairs.  
  
I stood there for a moment with my fist hanging by my hips, staring after him with what I knew would appear an impassive face. He is fast, The Idiot, I give him that much. One of his greatest strengths, in his Gundam and out, the savior of his hide on more than a few occasions.  
  
Like just now.  
  
Someday, I solemnly vowed, I would follow up that threat. But for now, the power of suggestion proved enticing, and I sedately followed my prey into the dining room, where the other three sat in their accustomed seats with their usual dignified air. And where the braided wonder sat, already forgetting his danger, busily taking in as much of his cherished pizza as his mouth could hold.  
  
Quarte greeted me with a polite gesture. "Heero, come join us. We were just about to begin eating."  
  
"About to . . . begin?" Wufei echoed, cast Duo a sideways glance.  
  
The blond pilot blushed slightly, biting back a smile, and shook his head without comment. Trowa watched the scene silently, with that ever-present introspective look of his, and Duo . . . he went on eating, oblivious to it all, mumbling incoherent praises to the cook as he chewed.  
  
I sat down, across from him, and took a sip of water. As Quarte turned the conversation to Trowa, asking him about his latest mission, and Wufei decided to ignore Duo and concentrate on his food himself, I kept my eyes on him.  
  
Idiot.  
  
His long hair was a liability in combat, as was his uncanny inability to self-destruct his Gundam; his priest clothes were overly dramatic; his whole demeanor proclaimed him an incompetent fighter and a constant pest.  
  
Ridiculous, loud-mouthed, annoying, frivolous . . . _baka_.  
  
_So why_, I asked myself, _did I feel like smiling?_  
  
  
. . . . .  
  
  
A moment of silence, and then the thudding retort of an explosion echoed around us--Nataku accomplishing her mission--and shattered the resistance of the few remaining Leos. They turned to flee, and we cut them down with quickness and efficiency, Deathscythe leading the way like a surgeon gone crazed, slashing through the green armor of the mobile suits with the dazzling curl of his favorite toy.  
  
I held back, surveying it all, the destruction of another OZ base. Ninmu Kanryou, Dr. J. You're very welcome. I could hear Duo's mad laughter over the communications unit as they finished up the Leos. _Not so incompetent, Heero_, I mused. _He's more than a little deranged, but he's a valuable pilot, more than he's recognized for._  
  
"So said the Pilot of Shinigami--"  
  
_Then, again . . . _  
  
"--As he grinned at his victim-to-be / For a headless dead Leo / I would forgive even Heero / For not ever talking to me!"  
  
A distant explosion signaled the end of another enemy mobile suit, and the haunting sound of Deathscythe's laughter was heard. I thought I heard a subtle sigh from Quarte, and then Shenlong flashed into view, dispatching of the last crippled Leo with an elegant sweep of one arm.  
  
"Wuffie, you came!"  
  
"It's Wufei, Maxwell. And be quiet for awhile."  
  
_That's my line_.  
  
"Said the victor with no little pain / Over a glass of cheap champagne / My friends cannot stand it / When I act like a bandit / They discuss whether or not I am--"  
  
"Maxwell," Wufei, again, severely, "I mean it!" Then, almost inaudibly, "Why do I bother?"  
  
_Indeed. I stopped trying._  
  
"How rude!" Duo chirped. "Geez, I wasn't even finished. Talk about injustice. How about interrupting, or condescending, or reprimanding without need? How about arrogance, how about judging a book by its cover, how about sneering at long hair--and look at yours, anyway. It's hardly military length, you know. Wuffie, Wuffie--" An exaggerated sigh. "After all I do to help you guys, you still treat me like an idiot."  
  
There was a distinct pause during which Quarte and Wufei must have surely bitten their tongues, and Trowa must have surely thanked his maker for an effortless silence. And I . . . well, I had long ago developed a defense against Duo's ways.   
  
Silence enveloped us all for a few rare and priceless moments.  
  
_"Hidooooooooooi!"_  
  
I felt my lips twitch. _Again, damn it! Why did he do that to me? _ Tuning out the reaction with the comfort of years' of training, I quickly skimmed my suit's data base for any damages. I could tell from Wufei's snort that he had to stifle a similar urge, despite himself.  
  
"Duo--" Quarte coughed delicately, "Ano--let's go home to my estate, ne?"  
  
The Idiot mumbled indecipherably and at length, the word "justice" becoming audible a few times.  
  
Quarte tried again, while the rest of us began to lift away. "Aren't you hungry?" Yes, we all knew Duo very well.  
  
That simple question was all he needed, and the three of us heard the echoing madness of his laughter as we plotted our course for the Winner estate. And Quarte, I could only guess with a touch of irony, was most likely suddenly hit with the longing to have said anything but that.  
  
"Bwuahahahahaha! Shinigami lives for the fight! / He will continue OZ's plight! / But first onward to dinner / With his pal Quarte Winner / Whose kitchen he'll empty tonight!"  
  
And of course, being Duo, he very nearly did.  
  
  
. . . . .  
  
  
_I remember it so clearly, that moment that came without announcement, just like his presence on every battle scene. A cloaked, deep moment that sprang out of nowhere and sharply defined what we are to each other.  
  
As the time when I found myself staring down the nozzle of my gun and into Relena's hopeful yet bewildered eyes, even as I struggled with the sudden slowness of my will, then sensing a motion from my right and feeling the burning impact of bullet in flesh.  
  
Duo Maxwell, saying hello for the first time.  
  
His braid was flying wildly, and I remembered wondering briefly, 'Who's she?' before he spoke. That cap was pulled down to where his eyes were barely visible, that blue, that singular blue. A confounding mixture of bravado and naivete, of quick thinking and a child's easy trust.  
  
He had looked very ready to kill, and yet the image jarred my consciousness, as if some voice spoke saying 'He shouldn't. Not him.'  
  
Not him? Not Shinigami, the self-proclaimed god of Death. That title he took with childlike glee and equal innocence; a child playing a game. Was he shallow, was he so deep it hurt? Did those eyes see a space-sized video game or colonies fighting for life?  
  
Wufei thought one, Quatre another, Trowa . . . who knew?  
  
I had no opinion. He completely confounded me.  
  
He saved my life, risking his own. This boy my age, barely knowing me, shooting me down at first sight, not knowing anything of my motives, my heart. He helped me out, helped me walk, helped me fix my suit, he helped me numb my ears to the roar of the world.  
  
Why, Duo?  
  
And the moment I held his life in my hands. The favor returned, if I wished. The annoyance blotted out, if I wished. He'd never know, but he was ready to face me. The bravado was there, and actual courage, too.  
  
Had he known a Leo was about to strike him, what would his eyes have said? Had he known that the instant I gained the upper hand was the instant I realized this killer's hand of mine could never take that life . . . what would he have said?  
  
"Gotcha, Heero."  
  
Duo, is it a game to you? Will you remember when it's all over? These moments, that space in time when I realized that your life was irreplaceable to us, what was going through your mind?  
  
Accepting death? Saying a prayer? Smiling inside?  
  
Let me in.  
  
I want to understand you.  
_


End file.
